Post Revolution
by kwest10
Summary: This is a short story following the events of the episode "Revolution".


Post Revolution

Author's Note: This story takes place immediately following the events of the 8th season episode "Revolution".

Disclaimer: Neither Law & Order nor its characters are mine; part of the dialogue on Page 1 comes from the episode "Revolution".

Zack Nichols sat on the step outside the bank, trying without success not to think of what just happened. The gunshot; Marta's body starting to collapse. Catching her, her body dead weight, literally, in his arms. Standing there, not moving, holding her upright and as still as possible to be sure the tilt switch detonator wouldn't activate.

What a waste of a life. Marta, or Birgit as she believed herself to be, living in the world of anger and hatred Kaspers had created for her, dedicated to the cause he had brainwashed her into, doing such horrible things – perhaps even taking lives – for Daddy's approval. And, finally, taking one last desperate stand, taking hostages in a bank, with her father's freedom and passage out of the country the ransom. That last stand, the act of a loyal daughter to save the only father she could remember, the father she loved, had cost Marta her life.

Footsteps approached, and Zack looked up.

Detective Alex Eames gave him a sympathetic look and sat down beside him.

"That's why I never had kids," Zack said. "Empty vessels that Daddy fills with love, compassion, empathy. 'Cause you get a-a me, or a him … oops."

Eames nodded.

Zack had almost forgotten she was there when she spoke. "I'm heading in to Major Case. You coming?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. They're, uh, gonna want a statement from me. Before I leave."

"All right. I'll see you later."

"All right."

"Zack? You okay?" Danny Ross asked.

Zack looked up again. "Yes, yes," he replied, but he didn't sound convincing, not even to himself.

Ross sat down on the step beside him. "That must've been … difficult," he said sympathetically. "To have …"

Zack jumped up, not looking at Ross. "Yes. I'm going home," he said shortly.

"Wait a minute, Zack," Ross said.

Zack stopped. "They already … took my statement. I don't have to stay."

"No. You don't. But I don't think … do you have anybody you can stay with tonight?"

"What? I … I've got my own place. I don't need …"

"Why don't you come stay at my place tonight," Ross suggested. "The boys are

with their mom; you can have Jeremy's room."

"No. That's okay," Zack said. "I'll … I'll see you tomorrow."

"Zack," Ross began. "I don't think you should be alone right now –"

"I'm fine," Zack said flatly.

"You don't look fine," Ross said.

Zack shrugged.

"Come on, Zack. That … what just happened in there would've been hard on anybody. You –"

"I'm _fine_ ," Zack repeated stubbornly.

"Glad to hear it," Ross said, obviously deciding not to argue. "So let's go."

"What? Where?"

"My place."

"No, I'm not staying at your place. I'm going home," Zack said. He turned to walk away.

"And how are you getting there?" Ross asked in an odd tone.

Zack glanced at the empty curb where his and Eames' car had been. _Oh. Right._ "I'll, uh, call a cab," he said.

"No. You're not staying by yourself tonight," Ross said flatly. "Do you have someone in town you can stay with?"

Zack shrugged. He knew people in town, but nobody he would ask to stay with just because his captain thought he needed supervision.

"All right. Then you're staying at my place."

"Fine," Zack snapped. He didn't really feel like arguing, and he knew Ross wasn't going to give in. So, unless he wanted to walk home, or hang around arguing until he could get a cab, he might as well agree.

Ross nodded. "Good. Let's go," he said. He led the way around the corner to his car. "We can stop at your place on the way," he offered.

Zack nodded silently.

Back at his apartment, Zack packed his overnight bag. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze. His shirt was covered with blood, which he hadn't even noticed.

Well, it wasn't really _covered_ with blood. Only part of it was literally covered. Spattered, that was a better word. Zack pulled off his shirt and scrubbed out the blood as well as he could, hanging it on the towel rack to dry after he was done.

"Hey, Zack! You about ready?" Danny called from the living room.

Zack sighed. He didn't want to stay at Ross's place. There was no reason he shouldn't stay at his own place. But he didn't want to argue, either.

"Zack?"

"Yeah. Just a minute," he replied. He dried his face and hands, pulled on a clean shirt, and grabbed his bag.

Ross was waiting for him by the door.

Zack saw him glance at his shirt. He was pretty sure he detected a hint of relief in his expression. Ross must have noticed the blood, and, no doubt, noticed that he himself _hadn't_ noticed it. Hence the enforced supervised stay. He was lucky Ross let him get his stuff from his apartment without supervision.

"You got everything?" Ross asked.

"Yeah." Zack locked the door behind them and followed Ross to his car.

That night, Zack lay awake in bed. Even in the dark room, he could still see Marta's haunted expression when he told her the truth about Kaspers. He could still hear her call out to him; still hear the gunshot that came out of nowhere when she started to go to him. He could still feel her limp body as he held it upright, making sure the tilt switch of the detonator didn't activate.

Zack sat up and switched on the light. The room looked like a teenage boy's room, with shelves full of DVDs and videotapes, comics, Harry Potter books, soccer trophies, and Star Wars models.

He wished he were home, instead. He could play piano there, or keyboard. That's what he'd done after 9/11. He'd played his keyboard for hours, trying to lose himself in the music, trying to keep the memories at bay. _I could call a cab, or walk,_ Zack thought. But he decided against it. He didn't particularly care to face Danny's wrath after he came in to work in the morning. Nor did he care to spend the night remembering the day's happenings.

He scanned the shelves instead, looking for something to read, and eventually picked out a Star Trek novel. He settled onto the bed and opened the book.

Zack was almost finished with his borrowed book when he heard Ross's alarm clock go off. He looked at his watch: 5:45. Plenty of time to get ready. He turned back to the book.

After he finished the last chapter, Zack put the book away, showered, dressed, and walked down the hall to the kitchen.

Ross was already there, reading the paper, a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked up when Zack walked in.

"Hey. You look ... did you get _any_ sleep?" Ross asked.

"I was reading," Zack replied, dodging the question. "Star Trek. A Stitch in Time. Have you read it?"

Ross shook his head. "Nope. Can't say I have."

"You should. It's one of the best."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe I will, someday. Hey, there's coffee, if you want some. And help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

"Thanks," Zack replied. He ignored the coffee and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Ross looked at his watch. "I've got to leave in 15 minutes," he announced. "You want a ride?"

"Sure," Zack said. "Thanks." He washed his empty glass and put it away. Then he returned to the bedroom, grabbed his duffel bag, and looked around the room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

"By the way, we've got a debriefing at 10:00," Ross announced as they entered the building.

Zack scowled. He'd managed to forget that, of course, after a day like yesterday, there would be a debriefing. But maybe he could find something more important, something that had to be investigated right away. Maybe –"

"It's mandatory, Nichols," Ross said.

"Fine," Zack muttered. He turned and walked inside.

Eames was already there, reading something on her computer.

"Good morning," she said, looking up at him. Her eyes narrowed. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine," Zack replied irritably. He was already getting tired of the question, and he'd been at work less than five minutes. He said at his desk and turned his computer on. _I'd better at least look as if I'm busy,_ he thought. He busied himself

checking e-mail and a couple of news sites until Ross announced the start of the debriefing.

"Waste of time," Zack muttered, but he rose and joined the half dozen people gathering around the conference table. Ignoring everybody, Zack sank into an empty seat, took out his notepad, and occupied himself sketching a fractal pattern reminiscent of a tree.

"Good morning," Ross began a few minutes later.

Zack kept drawing, only half listening to Ross's introductory speech. He briefly looked up when Ross introduced the woman who'd be running the debriefing, Lisa Davis. She wore an NYPD uniform, but it was obvious she was a counselor. Probably a psychiatrist or psychologist. Her confident posture and air of calmness and acceptance, when faced with a roomful of cops, most of whom really didn't want to be there – gave it away. Well, that and the fact that it was a stranger who'd be running the debriefing, rather than Ross.

Zack looked around the table. Judging by the lack of obvious hostility by anyone, and the calm, courteous attention they were giving her, several of them had worked with her before. Probably every time they did this kind of debriefing. He hadn't met her before, but then, this was his first debriefing since he'd joined Major Case.

Trying to keep his expression blank, Zack just nodded when Ross introduced him. As soon as their attention moved on to the next person at the table, he turned back to his drawing. But when the debriefing started in earnest, he listened.

Until somebody, a junior cop Zack knew only as Johnson, spoke up. "We saved them," he said with obvious pride. "All of them."

"No, you didn't," Zack spoke up for the first time. "You didn't save Marta."

"Marta?" Johnson asked blankly.

"The woman who was shot," Ross told him.

"I thought her name was Bridget."

"Birgit," Zack corrected him. "Yes, that's right. But her name at birth was Marta. After Kaspers killed her parents and, uh, kidnapped her, he called her Birgit. And, and, you know, she … she was an innocent too."

"She was anything but innocent!" somebody exclaimed.

"She was _an_ innocent. That's not to say she was innocent of, uh, you know. Taking the hostages. But, anybody could see she was listening to Kaspers. She was _listening_! They didn't have to kill her!"

"Of course we did! She was wearing a bomb! And she had twelve hostages! Not to mention you and Kaspers."

"She wasn't going to detonate it," Zack said.

"Of course she –"

"No, she wasn't! She changed her mind. It was obvious when she called out to Kaspers. It was obvious! You didn't have to kill her."

In his mind, he could see her, again, calling out to her father, going to him. The gunshot rang out, and blood splashed him. He felt the dead weight of her limp body as he caught her.

Zack bit his lip, hard, forcing his attention back to the present. He picked up his pen and twirled it around a few times. Then he returned to his drawing, forcing his attention on the increasing detail of the tree's branches, adding twigs and leaves and flower buds. Vaguely hearing the cop's protest that he hadn't killed anybody. Tuning out the escalating argument, the shrink's calming words, the ensuing discussion. Just focusing on his drawing.

"Detective Nichols?" somebody said.

Zack jumped, startled. He looked up.

The counselor, Davis, was standing beside his chair.

The room was otherwise empty.

Oops.

"Yes?" he asked politely, pretending she hadn't just caught him totally zoned out.

Davis sat down beside him. "It wasn't your fault," she said.

"I … of course it wasn't my fault," he replied. "I, uh, I tried to save her. She …" he paused for a long moment.

Davis waited.

"She didn't deserve to die," Zack finished.

"You're right. She didn't," Davis agreed. "But you can't blame the officer from SWAT. He was tasked with the responsibility of protecting the people in that bank. The hostages, you, and Kaspers. He didn't want to take the chance that she only _seemed_ to have changed her mind."

"She changed her mind," Zack insisted.

Davis nodded. "Yes. It certainly seemed that way on the videotape."

Zack flinched involuntarily. Though of course he had known there must have been a videotape. There were cameras. A few in the bank, and, no doubt, one up next to the SWAT team.

He looked back at his paper. The tree now extended from the bottom of the paper nearly to the top and edges. He added a few lines and put his pen in his pocket.

"I'm finished," he announced, as if he'd stayed behind intentionally to finish his drawing, rather than failing to notice the meeting end. He picked up his notebook and stood.

Davis remained seated. "I'll be available all week if you decide you want to talk to someone," she offered. "So will Captain Ross, and so will many of the people who were here –"

"Thank you," Zack interrupted, not meeting her eyes. He turned and walked away.

Ross was waiting for him outside. He wasn't being obvious about it. He was sitting at his desk, reading something. But Zack saw him stand up as soon as the door opened.

"Zack, I want you to take a couple of days," he began. "Administrative leave."

"No. I-I-I … I don't want –"

"Sorry. It's not open for negotiation. You know the policy. Anybody involved in a … in a situation like that comes in for a briefing and takes a few days. You know that."

Zack scowled.

"Go … go do something non-work related. Go visit Wheeler and her new baby. Take in an opera. Play piano. Whatever."

Zack sighed. He knew it was no use arguing. "Fine," he said. "Three days?"

"Yes. Three days."

Zack nodded. He grabbed his jacket and lunch bag and, without another word to anybody, strode out the door. Leaving his car in the lot, he walked. He didn't have any particular destination in mind; he just wanted to clear his head.

But walking didn't help. He walked for hours, but he couldn't get Marta, or Birgit, or the shooting out of his head.

It didn't help that everywhere he went, he saw parents with their children. A mother with a baby in a stroller. A grandmother holding her young grandchildren by the hands on their way to the park. A father playing catch with his daughter. A mother carrying a baby in a sling, listening to her older son talk about the latest Thomas the Tank Engine show he'd seen.

He knew he should visit Wheeler and her baby. Should get something for them. Something besides the roses Ross had sent them, ostensibly from him. But he didn't want to see the baby, not now. Not when all he could think about was what could go wrong. He didn't want to see, in his head, Megan's baby, grown up to look like a younger Megan, standing in front of him one minute, collapsing like a sack of clay the next minute from a gunshot wound. And he didn't want to upset Megan. She was a good cop. She would see something was wrong. See that he wasn't as enthusiastic or supportive as he should be, about her baby.

 _But I can go buy something for them,_ he decided. Maybe that would help get his mind off things.

Several hours later, Zack stood indecisively outside St. Vincent Hospital. He'd picked out a few gifts for Megan and the baby: a few classical, jazz, and world music CDs, a copy of Goodnight Moon, a board book picture dictionary, a couple of Baby Signing Time DVDs, and a gift certificate for a nice restaurant that delivered. He didn't really want to go in. Not today. But Alex and Danny had both called a few times, checking up on him. He hadn't picked up, but what if they'd contacted Megan, asking if she'd heard from him? He knew they knew he was upset. They might be worried. And he didn't want them to worry Megan. Besides, she'd probably expect him to visit, to meet the baby.

 _I'd better go in,_ he decided. _I don't have to stay long. Just give her the gifts, see the baby. It'll be fine._

Zack paused outside Megan's room, looking in.

Megan lay on the bed, gazing at her daughter, cuddled in her arms. She looked content. Exhausted, but content.

Zack knocked softly on the half-open door.

Megan looked up and smiled. "Hey, Zack. Come on in," she said.

"Thanks. How you doing? How's your baby?" Zack asked, but his eyes were on the baby in Megan's arms. He was curious in spite of himself, trying to catch a glimpse of the baby under the blanket and cap.

"We're good," Megan said. She shifted the baby in her arms so Zack could get a better look. "Her name's Margo. Margo Jane Wheeler."

Zack looked at the baby's sleeping face and caught a glimpse of chestnut hair, almost the same color as Megan's. Then, for a second, he saw her, grown up, covered with blood.

He blinked, and once again saw the baby, and her mother.

"Good. That's – that's – that's good," Zack said. His voice sounded shaky.

Megan looked at him sharply. "Zack? You okay?" she asked.

"I-I-I … uh, I brought you something," Zack said, ignoring her question. Forcing a smile, he handed her the bag with the gifts inside, hoping she didn't notice the slight tremor in his hand.

She hesitated a long moment, and he knew she'd noticed. He hadn't fooled her at all. "Thank you," she said, taking the bag, obviously deciding not to pry. She nodded at the chair beside her bed.

"Thanks," Zack said, sinking down into it.

Megan took out the gifts one by one. "Zack, this is so thoughtful!" she said.

"You … you sound surprised," he said.

She chuckled. "Sorry. I just, well, when I saw the roses, I … well, I guess I just didn't expect you to bring the perfect gift. Gifts."

Zack grinned, in spite of himself. He'd noticed her looking at the gift certificate for the restaurant when she'd said "the perfect gift". "You think so?" he asked.

"Yes. They're perfect. Everybody brings clothes and baby toys. She'll have plenty of those. But now she'll have music, and books, and, um, Baby Signing Time?" Wheeler's voice rose into a question.

"It's a good show. It teaches some American Sign Language vocabulary," Zack told her. "Uh, you know, babies can sign before they can speak," he explained. "You know, if somebody signs with them. It's … it's easier to control the hands well enough to make understandable signs than to enunciate words orally. At least with some signs. So you can communicate with her sooner, if she learns sign."

"I didn't know that," Megan said.

Zack nodded. Then he gave her a quick grin. "It's got pretty good music, too," he said.

Megan smiled. "Thanks, Zack."

"You're welcome," Zack replied.

A knock sounded on the open door.

Zack startled. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Megan giving him an odd look.

Eames stood at the door, holding a couple of packages for Megan and the baby.

Zack turned back to Megan. "I … I should go," he said. "Let you, uh, enjoy your visit."

"Okay. I'll see you soon?" Megan asked.

Zack nodded absently. He stood and turned to go.

"Zack? Are you …" Eames began.

"I'm going home," Zack interrupted, not waiting for her to finish asking if he was okay. He was tired of people asking him that, and he didn't want to talk about it. Certainly not here in Megan's hospital room.

"Okay," Eames said dubiously. "Good night."

"Good night." Zack strode out the door, not looking at anybody. Not waiting to hear what Eames was going to tell Megan. He was pretty sure she would tell her about what happened yesterday. Definitely sure _he_ didn't want to hear it. Pretty sure she wouldn't want to hear it, either. But at least he wouldn't have to explain to her what had happened.

It was a long walk home, but Zack didn't want to take a cab. He didn't feel like talking to anybody. So he walked.

By the time he got home, it was almost eleven. Too late to play piano. But he was too wound up to sleep. He put on his headphones, turned on his keyboard, and played. It wasn't long before he was half asleep on his feet.

He changed out of his suit and lay down on the bed.

"Oh, Papa!" Marta called out in his dream. A gunshot rang out and her blood sprayed him. Her body started to collapse, and he caught her.

He woke up covered in sweat, heart pounding. He glanced at the clock. 3:37 a.m.

He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to calm down, trying to get back to sleep.

It didn't take long to realize that wasn't going to happen. He got up, showered, and dressed, casually, knowing he wasn't supposed to go in to work for two more days.

 _Probably a good thing,_ he thought.

He poured himself a glass of orange juice, drank it, pulled the piano stool over to the keyboard, and sat down to play.

By the time the sun rose, he was almost asleep at the keyboard. But sleep, and the possibility of another dream, was pretty much the last thing he wanted.

Instead, he pulled on his shoes and went outside. He locked the door behind him and walked away. He walked fast, not paying attention to where he was going. Just trying to get away. To escape his home, his work, his thoughts. Just … forget about everything.

"You look like hell," Ross announced when Zack walked into the station two days later.

Zack shrugged. Ross was probably right about that. He'd barely slept since the shooting. Barely done anything except walk and play piano and keyboard and try not to think about anything.

"Why don't you catch up on e-mail or paperwork or whatever. I'll go see if Davis is free to talk with you.

Zack recognized the name of the counselor who'd run the debriefing the day after the shooting. "No," he said flatly.

Ross sighed, but he didn't insist. "All right," he said.

Zack nodded. He sat down at his computer and got to work.

"Hey, Zack," Ross said.

Startled, Zack looked up.

The captain was standing on the other side of his desk, coat in hand.

"I'm going for lunch now. Why don't you join me? My treat," Ross offered.

Zack wasn't sure whether that was a suggestion or a command, but he didn't ask. "Okay. Thanks," he said. He grabbed his coat and let Ross lead the way to a nearby sandwich shop.

A young, dark-haired woman was sitting at the table across the aisle from the booth to which Ross led him. An older man, probably her father, sat across the table from her.

Zack flinched. For a second, he saw her, or maybe it was Marta, standing in front of him, covered with blood, her body starting to collapse …

 _It's not her,_ he told himself fiercely. _It's not there. It's not then._

Just then, a crash rang out, and Zack gasped. He saw a broken plate lying on the floor near the kitchen door; he knew the crash hadn't been a gunshot. But his heart was pounding as if he'd just finished and placed in a 5K race.

"Zack!" Ross called. His voice sounded far away.

Zack blinked and looked up.

Ross was staring at him. "It was a plate. Somebody dropped a plate," he said with a calmness that sounded forced.

"Yeah. I know," Zack mumbled, looking away.

"So, uh, have you visited them yet?" Ross asked, changing the subject.

Zack stared at him blankly.

"Wheeler. And her baby," Ross clarified.

"Oh! Uh, yeah. A few days ago. Um, Margo Jane Wheeler."

Ross smiled. "Yeah. She looks like Megan, don't you think?"

She looked like a baby to Zack, but her hair was definitely Megan's hair.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess she does," he said.

"So, how are you doing?" Ross asked.

Zack looked away. "Fine," he lied.

"Uh huh. You getting any sleep?"

"Yeah." That, at least, was true. He was getting some sleep. An hour or three a night, that was some.

He glanced at Ross, who was looking at him doubtfully.

"I really think you ought to talk with Davis," Ross told him.

"Don't want to," Zack muttered.

"Zack, I –"

"I said no!" Zack snapped.

"Okay. I'm not making it an order. But I think …" Ross's voice trailed off. "You know, why don't you go check on Wheeler after lunch? See if she needs anything. Maybe pick up some dinner for her this evening," he suggested next.

Zack hesitated. He really didn't want to face Megan or the baby. But he'd finished his paperwork; he knew Ross wasn't about to assign him anything right now, and he didn't really want to hang out at the station playing Tetris, seeing, out of the corner of his eyes, the furtive glances everybody kept giving him. Knowing they thought he was crazy … well, half of them probably already thought he was crazy. And Megan was a new – and single – mom. She could probably use some help around the place, doing laundry, cleaning, preparing some food. He could do that. He wouldn't have to talk. Or be alone. And maybe the memories, or whatever they were, would go away for a while.

"Zack?"

"Yeah?" he looked up and realized he hadn't replied to Ross's suggestion. "Uh, yeah, sure. I can go check on Megan," he said.

"Thank you," Ross said.

Zack stood and grabbed his coat. "I'll, uh, I'll go now," he said.

Ross nodded. "Okay. Call if either of you needs anything."

Zack nodded. He stood, put on his coat, and headed out the door.

Megan looked as exhausted as he felt, Zack noticed when she opened the door. But the little smile she offered him and the way she glanced at her daughter, nestled comfortably in her arms, told him she'd be fine.

"Zack? What's wrong?" Megan asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Ross suggested I should come and see if you, uh, need anything. Make dinner or something. And he's right. I should've come before."

"That's all right. I don't need anything," Megan said.

"Really? You've got time for Margo and making dinner and cleaning the house and, you know, resting? Free time?"

Megan chuckled. "Well, maybe not. But my sister's been helping a lot, so I really don't need anything. Um, you want to come in?"

Zack nodded and followed her inside. "I've got the whole afternoon. What can I do? Laundry? Dishes?"

Megan smiled at him. "Thanks, Zack. But that's okay. My sister came over this morning and did all the chores. I guess you could make us some dinner later, if you want to. But why don't you sit down for a minute? You look exhausted."

"So do you," Zack replied. He knew she was probably right, but he didn't want to talk about it. "How's Margo?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

Megan sat on the couch, nodding for him to join her and the baby. "She's wonderful," Megan said softly. "You want to hold her?"

The image of the last time he'd held someone's daughter flashed through his mind, and Zack jumped up from the couch and backed away. "No, no, no," he said quickly. "I … no, you – you don't want me to do that."

Megan stared at him. "Uh, Zack …" her voice trailed off.

"I-I-I, um, I … I'll go do the laundry," he said, hurrying out of the room and into the bedroom.

There was a teddy bear in Marta's … no. In _Margo's_ crib. Zack closed his eyes. Shaking, he sank to the floor next to the wall.

A few minutes later, he heard Megan walk in and sit down next to him. She didn't say anything; just sat there.

Eventually, Zack's heart stopped its panicked racing, and his breathing slowed down to normal. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't worry about it," Megan said. "Alex told me what happened. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," Zack said.

"Nothing's going to happen to Margo. She'd be lucky to have you in her life."

 _What?_ Zack opened his eyes.

Megan was blushing. "Alex told me what you said. And I … I think it would be good for Margo … I mean, you know, we're partners. Or we were. I don't know if I'll be going back on active duty for a while. I'll probably get a desk job of some kind. You know, with dependable hours and no need to travel, so I can be there for her. But, you know, kids sometimes get to know their parents' colleagues. I think it'd be good for her."

Zack shook his head. "No, no, no. It wouldn't. I'm, uh … she … she's better off without -"

"No, she's not," Megan interrupted. "Zack, I know you're going through a rough time. I heard what happened. But that's to be expected. Anybody would have a hard time coping after something like that. But you'll be okay. Just give it time. I mean, you had a rough time after 9/11, too, didn't you? And you got through that."

Zack chuckled bitterly. "Yeah. After I fled the city and hid out for seven years. No police work. I, uh, played piano in jazz clubs, mostly."

Megan smiled. "I _thought_ you were pretty good," she said. "But you'll get through it this time, too," she added after a moment. "And maybe this it'll be a little easier. You don't have to hide out. I mean, maybe you could take a week or two. Spend some time with your friends and colleagues outside of work. Play piano. Maybe teach Margo to play."

Zack chuckled in spite of himself. "Uh, Megan, you do remember she's, what, a week old? I can't teach her to play."

Megan grinned. "I know. I was joking. But when she's older, you can teach her … oh, I don't know. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, or the alphabet song, or Chopsticks, or –"

Zack shook his head. "Megan, Twinkle Twinkle and the Alphabet Song are the same song," Zack pointed out.

Megan chuckled. "Oh. Right," she said. "Well, then, it should be easy to teach."

They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while. Then Megan looked up at Zack. "So, do you know sign language?"

"What?"

"The Baby Signing Time videos you got us. Do you know the signs?"

Zack shrugged. "I've seen a couple of episodes on TV. I know a little."

"Do you want to learn some more?"

"Sure."

Megan stood and led the way into the living room. She put the disk into the player and sat down next to Zack.

The music started, and Zack gave her one of his half smiles. "This isn't exactly how I was planning on spending my day," he said.

Megan shrugged. "I'm sure you can find somebody else who'd love to have your help with their laundry and dishes," she joked.

Zack chuckled. "Or, if I stick around long enough, I can find some to do here," he said.

"I suppose that's true," Megan said.

Zack looked at her. She looked tired, but content, holding little Margo, sound asleep in her arms, watching Rachel Coleman and a series of toddlers sign the words for different animals.

It was getting late, and he should be heading home. Megan needed her rest. But it was kind of nice here. Sitting on the couch, with his partner – or former partner, he reminded himself – and her baby. Listening to kids' music, picking up a few new signs. And Megan seemed fine with him being there. At least she wasn't asking him to leave, or glancing surreptitiously towards the clock on the mantle, or towards the door. Nor was she trying to get him to talk, or asking him if he was okay. She seemed willing to put up with him as he was, even at his worst. Just like always, he realized.

Zack leaned back in the couch. He could leave soon. But for now, he was where he wanted to be.

1


End file.
